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ziee · 3 years

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Yb(TeddyBear) x Reader

"Before I go, I wanted to get you something special." Your dad says, turning around to rummage in his bag. You watched his back in curiosity, wondering what he would have gotten his 22-year-old daughter. He was going on a business trip for about 2 weeks, but every time spent away from you, your dad always got you something. Mostly plushies, or some childish stickers. It started as a kid, your dad would always have to leave due to business trips, so it's kind of sweet he still does it.

"Tada!" He excitedly says, turning around while holding a large plush in his hands. In his hands, he held a rather large stuffed bear. It wore a black vest with a blue shirt, housing a rather cute black and white heart. It's fur was grey, with large blue eyes.

You smiled at him, thinking that the bear was incredibly cute for just being a stuffed bear. "Aw dad, he's so adorable!" You squealed, taking the bear from your dad's hands. He puffed out his chest in pride due to your reaction.

"I bought him in the cafe next to your work, they said he was one of a kind. I'm pretty sure he has a name too, check the tag." You rolled the tag on the bear's back around and looked at the tiny words. Your boyfriend- Peter!

"So your names Peter huh?" You smile and hold the bear to your chest. "Thank you dad, this is much better than those paw patrol stickers from last time." You playfully roll your eyes as your dad clutches his chest in a playful manner.

"You hurt me Y/n, I thought that was your favorite show." He fakes his painful expression as you laugh.

"Yeah, from like when I was 5!" You shout at your dramatic dad. Once the giggling fades, you move in to hug him. "Stay safe, ok?" You mumble into his chest. Your dad wraps his arms around you, pulling you tighter in.

"I'll be back before you know it." He kisses the top of your head and lets you go, moving to enter his car. As he drives off, you wave goodbye. Returning your focus on the bear in your arms, you smile as you run your fingers through his soft fur. Entering the house, you make your way towards your bedroom.

Placing the bear on your bed, you settle him between your pillows before leaving the room. "What to do now.." You mumble just as your stomach growls. Food, of course. You hadn't even eaten breakfast. It was just 5 minutes past 9 AM. Your dad usually leaves early on business trips, so you wake up to say goodbye.

Entering the kitchen, you go to prepare some food. The day moves on as you do your usual activities on your off days. Clean the house, get some groceries, dread going to work the next day. You decided to try and relax, preparing a hot enough to melt your bones bath. Perfect.

You stripped in the bathroom, setting your clothes on the counter before realizing you forgot one thing. Wrapping a towel around your nude body, you enter your room for a candle to light. You then notice how your bear was suddenly not on your bed. Your brows furrow as you stepped closer to your bed before feeling a soft plush under your foot. You yelp and scramble backward, tripping on your own feet before falling on your ass.

You moan in pain as your rub your pained butt, looking forwards at the monster that tripped you. It was.. Peter? "Peter? How did you get on the floor?" The window wasn't open, preventing the breeze from coming in. Even though you don't think a little breeze would knock over a plush bear. Your exposed legs closed as you move to crawl towards your bear.

In doing so, your towel got caught under your knee, pulling it down from your chest. There you sat, crawling towards your bear in the nude. You didn't really care, there was no one else but you home and besides, you walked around this house naked before. You got to your bear, taking hold of its.. Hot body?

Was it in the sun or something? His fur felt warm as well a pink tint on its cheeks. Maybe you just didn't see the pink outside. You stood up, holding the bear to your chest before placing it back on your bed. "Now you stay there, alright?" You say, pointing a finger at the grey bear before grabbing the items you need, making your way back to the bathroom.

The day went on with no more predicaments. You relaxed in your bath, ate as much as you wanted without annoying comments.. And soon enough the day was coming to an end. Changing into your pj's, you stripped once more in your room and threw on a t-shirt and some shorts.

Washing your face, you hopped back into your room and jumped onto the bed. Bouncing up and down with your new teddy, you smiled before pulling out your phone. You brought the bear under your arms, looking as though you're cuddling it as you scroll through social media.

Eventually, you got tired and put away your phone on the nightstand. Turning off your light, you rolled over, away from the plush before falling asleep. As the clock reached 12, your bed suddenly bore new weight.

Your bear disappeared from view, instead, a man took its place. Beside you, the man silently watched as you slept. He wore the same as his stuffy counterpart, but with the addition of black pants. Blue eyes, almost suffocating, stared at your unconscious body.

Feeling his grin widen, so did his boxers. "Oh darling, I almost couldn't control myself after that show you pulled earlier.." He whispered as his hand ghosted your cheek, almost touching your warm skin before stopping himself. He got off the bed, making his way to the other side, towards where you've turned.

Leaning down, his face stood in front of yours. His breathing turned heavy as he stared at your face. Cheeks dusted with red blush, a large tent formed in his pants. Soon, the pounding of his cock beneath his clothes became too much for him. Growing annoyed, he figured he can just relieve himself while watching you..

The next day was busy. Having to get up early, get ready for work, and whatnot. Thankfully, the shift seemed to end quickly. Although you hate it when it gets super busy, it does make the time fly by. When you got home, you kicked off your shoes and headed straight for the shower.

Walking in your room to grab your pj's, you smile as you spot Peter on the bed. "Hi Peter, did you get lonely when I was gone." You asked the stuffed animal.

...

Why are you talking to a plushie.

After your shower, you flopped down on your bed. Grabbing the bear, you set him on your chest as you stared into your phone. Peter couldn't see your face but did feel your breasts underneath him. Rising up and down from your breathing, he watched you as scrolled endlessly.

The first week went by quickly, your routine being work, shower, lounge around. Maybe do some chores here and there, obviously you had a little more control when your dad was out, and do some snack trips.

All the while, every night when the clock hits 12, your little bear would turn into a 6'5 man. Who is awfully obsessed with you. He wishes you would take him everywhere, feeling anger every time you leave him on the bed. But it's to be expected, you still only know of his toy form. That would change this week.

Only having a week until your father gets home, he doesn't want to miss his chance to introduce himself. He doesn't know why he waited this long anyway, I guess it's just so fun to watch your sleeping face as he.. Uh, does his 'activities'.

As of right now, it was about 11:50. Just 10 more minutes. He could wait that long. You had already gone to bed, sleeping like an angel, but facing away from him. He grumbled as the clock took its time ticking.

But alas, it struck midnight. He stretched his stiff body, staying in the same position every day unless you readjusted him. He moved his weight off the bed, walking over to the side where you lay before kneeling down.

He smiled as he leaned in close, feeling your soft breaths through your nose on his. Watching you sleep was a ritual, but recording every detail of you was a way of art. The way your nostrils flared slightly as you breathed out, your lips growing dryer throughout the night, and your beautiful open eyes..

Opened eyes?

The first thing you usually woke up to was either your nightstand or the ceiling. Not a pair of large, blue eyes. Wait, blue eyes? You shot up, away from the strange man as you scooted to the other side of your bed.

"Who are you." You shakily spoke, feeling around the bed for anything you could use as a weapon. In doing so, you realize your bear is now missing. Your eyes now pierce the stranger on the other side of the bed, not daring to move as he stares at you. Wait a minute..

He looks familiar. His clothing reminds you of your bear. As well as his eyes.. And skin too?? "Peter..?" You whisper, furrowing your brows. His eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face.

"Yes! I'm your boyfriend." He comes up on the bed, sitting in front of you as confusion racks your brain.

"Wait- Are you really my stuffed bear?" He nods. "But how? You're a stuffed BEAR! Not a human? Are you a cursed bear or something?" You look at his skin, trying to find any markings of curses or what not when he grabs your hands softly.

"I'm not cursed. I turn into a human at midnight each night." He smiles, rubbing his thumb over your hand. "You're really cute when you sleep." Bringing your hand up, he rubs his cheek against your palm, all the while as he stares at you.

Your mouth opens, flabbergasted at what you've just been told. Your bear can turn into a human. Each night. And he's been staring at you while you sleep?? "How come you didn't tell me before? You could have just woken me up."

"You're always so busy in the mornings, and I want you to get your beauty rest.~" He mumbles, rubbing his face into your hand. You let it happen, a bit weirded out but I mean, it is your bear. Your bear.. That saw you naked... MULTIPLE TIMES.

OH MY GOD.

Your cheeks suddenly flush, remembering all the times you've been naked in your room the past week. The first day burns into your mind. He takes notice of your blush, grinning as he guesses what you're thinking about.

"You know, I've seen your body so many times yet you have never seen mine." Great observation dude, this is the first time I'm learning about it too.

"What are you saying?" His rubbing stopped, seeing him lick his lips before bringing his head up. My hand falls onto my lap as he grins.

"If you want.. I could show you." He's offering to show you his body? Actually, you've never seen a man's body. In-person, of course. It's not like you haven't had boyfriends, but you never got close enough for 3rd base. This- your teddy bear is now offering to show you his junk.

...

You were a little curious.

"I've listened to the videos you watched, and albeit I'm still furious that you would look at other bodies while pleasuring yourself but, I've only ever heard male voices." Your face burned in shame. Completely forgetting most of the time that your bear was right beside you as you touched yourself, he was right.

Your history consisted of mostly guys jerking off. You just found it fascinating and fucking hot, how they came. The different ways they would touch themselves too, and their small groans of pleasure.. Thinking about this is getting you a little wet..

"Oh um well.." You didn't know what to say. 'Yes, I wanna see your dick.' ?? God you were such a virgin. He watched you with a smirk, watching as your eyes zoomed everywhere but his eyes. He could tell you wanted to say yes, but you were just too embarrassed. Cute.

Slowly, he grabbed hold of your hands and placed them on his chest. You let out a quick 'eep' as you felt his hard chest. Looking up towards him, his encouraging smile allowed you to run your hands over his shirt. Your hands were a bit shaky at first, but you kept telling yourself this was alright. It was your stuffed bear anyways.

Moving one hand down, you poked his belly button, making him laugh a bit. That seemed to ease you, moving your hands more freely around his chest. You got curious, wanting to see under the vest and shirt.

You inched your hands down, looking up at him as you do so. You flick your fingers under his shirt, slowly pulling it up. He stared at you and grinned, allowing you to do so. "My, so eager.."

"Shh!" You blushed as you lifted his shirt up. He took off his vest as you placed your hand just below his collar bone, holding up the shirt as your other hand cautiously touches his free skin.

His skin was cold, and grey. Flinching at your first touch, you watch in awe as his stomach clenches before relaxing. His belly button was small, a cute innie. Your hand moved up from his hips towards his nipples. They were a darker shade of grey than him, small as well.

You ran your fingers over his right one, instantly becoming hard from your touch. Your cheeks flushed with heat and color as he arched his back, pushing his chest out towards you. You softly pinched one, making him let out a soft moan. You immediately release his nipple and throw your hands up, shocked. His shirt fell after your hand left, as his eyes stared at you in confusion. "Did I do something wrong, darling?" His whispered voice made you want to writhe in excitement. You made a guy feel good! Even moan! Your fantasies were coming true, and oh boy were you gonna milk this.

"N-no.. I just got a little excited." You mumble, fanning yourself with your hands. His face morphed into one of pure delight, his cheeks dusted with the same pink as you. Lifting his hand up, he pulled his shirt up and grabbed one of your hands, placing your palm against his chest once more.

"Then by all means.. Continue to explore." You felt your legs twitch as you got even more aroused. Now with another free hand, you used both to play with his nipples. Twisting, flicking, pulling, all the while a large tent was forming under his pants. You wondered what it would feel like licking his nipples.. Should you- ask?

...

"Can I.. Can I lick them?" Peter almost creamed in his pants. Figuring you were too far though, he grabbed your waist and pulled you upon his lap.

"You can do whatever you want with me. I'm yours." He answered, begging in his head that you would do much more than lick his nips. You licked your lips as you stared at his swollen nipples, moving your head closer towards his chest before your mouth was almost touching one of them.

You opened your mouth, lolling out your tongue before giving a quick flick onto one of them. Peter's body flinched at the cold contact, creating a jolt of pleasure straight to his pelvis. You pulled his nipple into your mouth, twirling it around your tongue. He let out more moans, encouraging you to do more.

Softly biting into his skin, he continued to be at your mercy. You released him from your mouth, looking at the bite marks encased into his skin. You grinned, staring at his flushed face. "I didn't know you were so sensitive." You teased, trailing a finger around his abused nipple.

He smirked, deciding to say nothing but look down. Following his gaze, you suddenly realized that you were subconsciously grinding against his knee. You opened your mouth but closed it after not knowing what to say. God, how desperate were you?

"Didn't know you were so horny y/n." He let his shirt fall and grabbed your waist, moving you back and forth faster on his knee. You jolted and moaned, the feeling of someone else pleasuring you was far better than you expected.

"Mmm.. Oh god.." You clutched onto his shoulders as he swayed you, your shorts doing little to nothing in resistance, which you thanked. You jolted every time you moved, your breathing heavy as you felt nothing which you've felt before. You wanted more.

"Peter.. Do you wanna do it?" You moaned into his ear, still clutching onto his shoulders. He stopped moving you, softly pushing you off his knee and onto your back. Leaning over you, his wide blue eyes stared into yours. Rose dusted his cheeks as his tongue licked his lips.

"I've been waiting since day 1 to do this to you, darling." He leaned down, rubbing his head against your breasts. You bit your lip as your thighs trembled in anticipation. You could see his cock against his pants, trying to escape.

This would be your first time seeing a real cock. In person. Up close. And very, very, personal. He removed his head, touching his fingers against your shirt before pulling it off you. He stopped to admire, watching as your chest rises and falls, remembering the time he had sat there. God, you were so warm.

He moved down, pulling down your shorts. Easy enough, but he stopped at your underwear. Dragging his fingers over your clothed slit, you whined at the consistent pounding of your clit. "Patient love, like I have been.." He growled as he continued pushing into your clit. Due to how wet you were, your underwear soon became drenched at the constant pushing. He soon takes off your underwear, coming over you once more as he leaned down.

With the underwear in his hands, he takes a long lick up the cloth, sapping up all your juices. You watch, mouth agape. That was fucking hot. He smirked at your blinded reaction, too red to move. Throwing the panties on the ground, he pushed your legs up before spreading them apart.

Resting in front of you, it was now time for the grand show. "Are you ready to take me all dear?" He purred, reaching for his zipper.

"Yes! I want your cock inside me, please!" You cry, all the teasing from him was too much for your virgin self. He chuckled as he unzipped his pants, his cock almost protruding from his boxers. You breathed heavily as you stared at his erection. Such a pervert.

He brought down his boxers, pulling them down to his knees. There, his cock stood at full attention. "Is it- uh, always this big?" You gulped, seeing the size. He laughed, bringing a hand to your cheek, swiping his thumb against your skin.

"Only when I see you, darling."

"Will it fit?" You question.

Like an idiot.

"Of course it will. Don't worry, you'll only feel a little bit of pain. If it hurts, I'll take it out, alright?" He promised, giving you an oscar worthy smile. You relaxed a bit, trusting him enough to stick it in you. Just like your doctor.

You breathed out and nodded, confirming you still wanted to do it. He positioned himself over you, his tip touching your entrance. "Just relax, alright?" He leaned down, giving you the first kiss of the evening. Your lips mushed together, you being a bit less experienced but still, it was romantic.

Pulling away left a string of saliva, turning you on even more. He stroked himself over your slit before slowly pushing himself inside. The tip was alright, but past that it started to hurt. You grabbed onto his arms and squeezed, stopping him immediately. He nuzzled into your neck as you breathed, trying to relax.

As soon as you were ready, you nodded against his head. He kissed your shoulder before pushing himself further in. You breathed in and out, trying to relax. "I'm- in." He panted, resisting the urge to destroy you.

"Your so- b..big." You moan, clenching his arms. He chuckled, sweat growing on his forehead.

"Thank you dear, you're the perfect fit for me." He waited until you were alright, slowly pulling out as you gave him a nod. Pushing himself back in, you gasped. Continuing to do so slowly, pain turned into less pain before it turned into pleasure.

"F-faster." You moan into his ear. He complied happily, turning up the heat with his hips. The slapping of skin commenced in the room, panting and moans swirled around the 4 walls as sweat dripped.

His thrusts were hard, pushing himself in and out of your wet hole. His cock shone from your juices as he panted in your ear. Him being inside you excited you, but hearing his groans and pants? You thought you were already close to cumming.

His hands suddenly went to your hips, gripping into your skin as he pounded harder into you. Was he already close? His thrusts suddenly went wild, pounding into you harder and harder. You saw his thighs start to shake before he lets out a long, low groan.

Hot liquid shoots into you, leaving him blinded with pleasure. His hips go into auto as he pumps his seed into you, filling you up before he stops. Pulling out of you, a trail of liquids follows him out. Great, now you'll have to wash your sheets, but to be honest, that was far from your worries.

You hadn't even cum yet! You felt him all up, let him in and you don't even get to cum?? He lays next to you, panting. You watch as his breathing slows from hurried gasps. "Had fun?" You mumble, staring into his eyes.

"Yes, you felt amazing darling." He lifts himself up, before rolling to hover over you. You're trapped under his arms, smiling at what's about to happen. "Don't think I haven't felt your glares at me, I'll get you to cum too, dear~" He smirks as he leans down, head before your entrence.

Is he gonna..? After he put it in?!

That's hot.

You grin as you felt his hands trailing your thighs before clutching onto them. You start to feel his breath on your clit, waiting in anticipation for what's to come. You squeal as you felt the first lick. His long tongue spreading along your whole slit. It's so wet and warm, mixing with his own cum. He doesn't seem to mind though, lapping it all up along with your juices.

You moan as he gets into it, taking your clit into his mouth as he sucks. Placing a hand on his head, you softly urge him into you further, making him suck harder. Biting your lip, you muffle your moans as he twirls your clit along his tongue.

You buck your hips into his mouth, your breasts bouncing along with your body. You place your other hand onto your tit, rubbing and squeezing your nipple. It seems to boost your arousal, suddenly getting more and more sensitive.

You jolt and tremble under his tongue, squealing as the pleasure overwhelms you. You squeeze your tit hard, pushing his head into you as you buck widely into his mouth. Crying out as you cum, you see white. When that fades, you're left dazed. Your hands move back beside your hips, sprawling out onto the bed as Peter holds his head up from his job well done.

Licking his lips, he smiles as he sees you passed out from pleasure. He cleans you up, putting yours and his own clothes back on before tucking you under the bedsheets. Just as the sun rose, he gets back into his usual position, beside you.

Your dad comes back after a week since the incident. Well, the 'first' one at least. "Y/n! I'm home!" You run downstairs to greet your dad, pulling him into a hug. "Welcome back dad." You smile.

"So, did you like the bear?" He asks as he sets his coat on the rack. You grin, nodding.

"He was great companionship!"

#your boyfriend #your boyfriend visual game #yourboyfriendgame #ybxreader #your boyfriend x reader

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sassyandclassy94 · 3 years

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Shipping Challenge

Okay... I was not tagged, but I couldn't resist so the heck with it, right? Anyway, let's get started!

(I tag anyone who wants to do this!)

1. First ship

Black Beauty & Ginger from Anna Sewell's 'Black Beauty'

These two are the first ever 'couple' I ever remember shipping. Even though they were horses I loved them and their dynamic so much; how she hated him the moment he arrived and how he loved her from the beginning; Ginger eventually having a change of heart as she watched Beauty almost die one night. I don't know, I just really liked them as a child and honestly still count them as an OTP

2. First OTP ship

Willie and Missie LaHaye from the Love Comes Softly Series

I LOVED them and they were probably my biggest OTP before SwanFire. I'm also pretty sure I had a composition book full of, what I didn't know was referred to as, 'fanfictions' about them. Preteen me really loved them and I remember thinking that I wanted to have a relationship like these two someday :)

3. Current favorite shippings

Emma Swan & Neal Cassidy (SwanFire) from Once Upon a Time

Ahh, the Lost Girl and the Lost Boy, the cause of the curse and the reason for the curse. Both sad, broken, and depressed kids who found a home in each other. If that's not poetic, I don't know what is. These two will forever be my number 1 OTP :)

Hiccup & Astrid

Need I say more or go on? I love how these two lean on each other - how she backs him up any time he needs it; always the first to listen and respect his crazy ideas. They're special and a close second to SwanFire :)

Prince Rhen & Harper from the book "A Curse So Dark and Lonely" by Brigid Kemmerer

I read this book back in April (May?) and I still haven't gotten over them. I love a decent Beauty and the Beast retelling.

4. A Ship from the first minute

Snow White and Prince Charming (Once Upon a Time)

Need I say more?

5. A ship I wish had been endgame

Emma & Neal once again

Yeah... I'm still bitter toward the writers for ripping them off. It's okay though - they're endgame in my mind :)

Also Darius and Amarinda from The Ascendance Series but alas! I couldn't find fan art of them. I would've liked them to end up together too but nope... she chose Tobias :'(

6. A ship I wish was canon

Steve McGarrett and Alicia Brown (Hawaii Five-0)

As much as I love McRollins, I wouldn't have been opposed to these two becoming a couple. He saved her life, for Pete's sake and then helped her find and rescue her daughter from a serial killer! How could a woman not fall in love with a man like that?? Oh well. (Also.. Anna? I wanna watch this one!!!)

7. A Ship in the Fandom mostly everyone hates but I love:

Captain Hook and Milah

They were made for each other, what can I say? I mean, he literally had her name on a heart tattooed on his forearm.

8. I don’t watch the show (or read the book) but ship it: (I'm going to watch it though)

Prince Arthur Tudor & Catherine of Aragon (The Spanish Princess)

I don't know if this counts cause of all the clips I've seen and the history and historical fiction books I've read but... *SIGH* What could've been... :(

Rhys & Feyre (A Court of Thorns and Roses)

I've seen enough fanart and bookstagrammers to know that I'm probably gonna like them...

9. A Ship I wish had a different Storyline:

Rhen and Harper once again

I'm still annoyed with the ending she gave them...

10. Favorite ship that is endgame:

Hiccup & Astrid once again

11. A ship where the characters have barely even met (or not at all) but I ship it :

Jack Frost and Elsa

So I watched Rise of the Guardians and I'll admit that I shipped this pairing right away and... I may have started reading fanfics as well. But honestly, I followed a few artists who would draw these two quite frequently and I kinda jumped on the shipping wagon then and there.

_____________________

There's my ship list! There are probably more that I can't think of the moment but oh well! You all get the idea! (I don't know if books counted but THEY COUNT TONIGHT!!!)

#Ship Challenge #Black Beauty #SwanFire #Hiccstrid #Jelsa #Hawaii Five 0 #love comes softly #Willie x Missie LaHaye #The Spanish Princess #Snowing #OUAT #A Curse So Dark and Lonely #about me

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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All For Us Chapter 9

Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me on this one, but it’s finally done! Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but there’s only one chapter left (and maybe an epilogue) on our journey with Mira, Erik, and Cupcake. If you’re just here for Killmonger, I have a couple Erik oneshots heading y’all’s way in the next few weeks. Also, check out The Temple. 😉

As always, don’t forget to look at my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Like, comment, and reblog away! 🥰

CW: a little smut

Word Count: 6,481

Erik’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright through the sand that covered his body in his temporary grave. He was in the heart of the temple where the Black Panther ceremony took place, the City of the Dead. The lost prince pulled himself from the sand and brushed the clay-colored sediment from around his eyes as he climbed the stone staircase leading up into the garden of the heart-shaped herb. When he made it to the top, Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the garden. To his surprise, nothing caught on fire like in his previous dreams. His shoulders relaxed as he took another step into the garden, and another, and another until he was face to face with Bast’s statue. A smile took over his face as he knelt at her feet.

“Took you long enough, Jaguar.”

Erik lifted his head, and her celestial glow nearly blinded him as he laid his eyes on the panther goddess once more.

“Long enough for what?”

“For your senses to come back, obviously.” Bast circled him and laid down, licking her paw. “Pretty soon, you won’t have to be asleep to talk to me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it.”

Erik turned to face her and sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never took them away. You did.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your guilt blocked your senses, Erik,” she sighed. “You had been holding onto pieces of it, but you finally let it go.”

“I felt guilty for ruining our marriage,” Erik mused aloud.

“But you didn’t, so congratulations,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

Bast chuckled at his informality.

“Last time we spoke, I said I would need you to do something for me. I’ve finally made up my mind as to what that is.”

Erik sat with bated breath as he waited for his assignment. For a moment, he was reminded of his military and mercenary days, except this time, he was being given a mission from a goddess. His goddess.

“As you know, Wakanda has never had a Golden Jaguar before. You are an anomaly, but that is a good thing.” She stood up and started walking, making him rush to his feet to follow after her.

“It is?”

“Yes. You know, the good thing about cycles is that with destruction comes rebirth…change. You’ve forced Wakanda to change, and you’ve forced me to think some things over. Truthfully, after the little stunt you almost pulled, I did think about removing your powers. I don’t need to preach about it, though, since you already know all about your wrongdoings, but I heard what you said about your people. We have neglected them, and for that, I have no words of apology that would adequately ease your pain. The Lost Tribe, as my people have come to call you, needs a champion. Wakanda already has theirs, but since you seem to rather enjoy toying with colonizers, I have an assignment for you.”

Erik’s ears were trained on Bast as he hung on every word she said. He walked next to her as they made their way through the catacombs towards the temple’s entrance.

“Before you came to Wakanda, you were involved with Klaue and his hunt for vibranium. Your vast knowledge of African and diasporic artifacts combined with your training makes a great equation for what I need you to do.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to act as the Golden Jaguar on the Lost Tribe’s behalf. I recognize that as just one person, you can only do so much, which is why I will talk to T’Challa about you heading his Wardog program. I would like for you to have an army of spies at your disposal to act instead of just watch and report as they have done in the past.”

“So basically what I wanted to do before but without the world domination?”

“Precisely,” Bast chuckled and stopped walking at the door to the temple.

“Ok,” Erik thought on it as a smile crept up his cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would. I think you’ll like my first assignment. Well, second. First, you need to stop avoiding the City of the Dead in your waking life. You need to go visit the garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said, his nerves twisting in his gut at the thought of actually stepping back onto the sacred land.

“Now, my second assignment: artifact reclamation. Instead of searching for vibranium, which you might find, I want you to return items to their rightful owners.”

“So, stealing,” Erik deadpanned.

“Yes, but for a good cause. I will let you work out the details, but the point is to return the power to the people by building them back up, brick by brick. They were separated from their gods, so the Ancestors and the Orishas are working on bringing them back to us spiritually. They are still working on getting other spirits and pantheons on board...alas, my brother and sisters are choosing to take a more passive approach.” She sighed. “The Lost Tribe was taken from the land, so T’Challa has already spearheaded initiatives to build up other African countries that need his assistance and bring the Lost home to the continent. Now, I need you to bring our belongings home. Our thrones, our art, our history. Take it back. Bring it back to its rightful place.”

“I’m with it, but, um...how am I supposed to do this without getting caught? If shit just starts disappearing en masse, somebody’s gonna notice.”

“They won’t disappear. The colonizers won’t even know they’re gone.” Bast flicked her tail mischievously. “Your wife designs kimoyo beads, does she not?”

“Well, yeah-”

“And your cousins are scientific geniuses, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’m sure that between all of your big beautiful brains, you can figure out a way to make replicas of the artifacts.”

“Why does that compliment feel like an insult?”

“I like you, Jaguar,” The goddess chuckled. “Now go enjoy your time with your wife.” She winked at Erik as she nudged him out into the brightness shining from outside the wide-open temple doors. Erik returned to consciousness, and he was shocked by the feeling of Mira’s mouth traveling up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, girl. This how you waking Big Daddy up now?”

She popped her head off his tip, and he groaned at the sight of a bridge of spit still connecting her to him.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Mmmm, good morning to you, too,” he grabbed her loose curls that she had forgotten to tie up the night before. The silk sheets kept her hair soft and bouncy as her hair spilled over his fist while it rested at the back of her head. He pulled her in for a kiss, and then she went right back to taking him down her throat. “You’re gonna make me nut all down that throat, Princess.”

Mira’s hand cupped and massaged his ballsack while she sucked on his bulbous head. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and her other hand traveled up and down his length, making his toes curl.

“Fuuuuck, you remember just what Big Daddy likes. Imma bust a fat ass nut, girl,” Erik groaned through gritted teeth. Mira giggled at her control over him and continued to work his dick. Her nose reached his pelvis as she took him down her throat, and he came with such force that she almost choked. Almost.

When she pulled off of him, she tongue-kissed his tip before sitting back on her haunches and wiping her mouth. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik let out a breathy laugh, “Like the dead.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t feel me moving. You were out cold.”

“That’s because I was talking to Bast.”

“What’d she say this time?”

Erik sat up against the headboard and motioned for her to come to him. Mira crawled up his body and straddled him, sliding down on his dick so that they were connected as deep as they could be. They had always been like this; whenever they needed to have a serious conversation, Erik would set her in his lap and have her take all of him. They both reveled in the connection they had in that moment, and even in their stillness, their united bodies responded to each other as the words fell from his lips.

“She wants me to be the Golden Jaguar officially,” he said as he kissed down from Mira’s ear to her shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Mira asked, barely above a whisper.

“She wants me to be a champion for us, the Lost Tribe. Wakandans have T, so I’ll be protecting the rest of us with the Wardogs.”

“How, though? That’s so many people.”

He came up from kissing between her breasts to look her in the eyes. “Well, remember how I told you about the museum heist to get the vibranium?”

Mira nodded.

“She wants me to steal artifacts from museums and shit and return them to where they were stolen from.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Mira snarked, and he tickled her sides, making her pussy clench around him, and he let out a groan at the feeling. He grabbed her hips and moved them back and forth.

“It is. I can’t do anything until I visit the garden of the heart-shaped herb, though.”

“Why?” she moaned.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” he sighed.

Mira pulled him into a kiss and cycloned her hips as she wound on him. “Do you need to go alone, or do you want me to come with you?”

He connected their foreheads as he pushed his hips forward into her, and she called out his name.

“I need to go alone.”

Their hips ground into each other as the sexual energy inside them built up slowly and erupted through their bodies. Erik placed kisses all over Mira’s face and neck as she caught her breath from the intensity of her orgasm.

“How about I make breakfast?” Erik asked, and Mira simply nodded and kissed him. She moved to get up, but he held her down. “Nah, I didn’t say right now.”

After another round, the two of them separated from each other, if only because of the rumbling of their bellies. They showered together, and Erik couldn’t help himself from bending her over and eating her pussy and ass from the back. Pretty soon, he was balls deep inside her again, and when he came all over her cheeks, he about keeled over from the way the orgasm shook through his body.

“Aight, I need a break,” Erik said, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their shower without any more funny business.

“Can I have one of your t-shirts?” Mira asked as they slathered themselves in shea butter.

“You can have anything you want, Princess. MIT or Navy?”

“MIT please,” she cheesed at him.

“Coming right up.”

Erik left the room and returned with his maroon-colored MIT t-shirt. The same one she wore the first time she stayed over at his apartment back in the day. He knew it was her favorite and the look on her face when he handed it to her was priceless. She quickly shimmied into it while he slid on a pair of sweatpants that left little to the imagination.

The two of them relocated to the kitchen, and Mira toyed around with her latest kimoyo design on her tablet while Erik got to work on breakfast.

“That a new one?” he asked, nodding towards the design hovering over the counter.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten it to work right, though,” she grumbled as she stared at it. “I want it to be able to apply cloaking tech to whatever it touches, but so far, I can only get the bead to disappear.”

Erik listened to her complain about her failed design for a little while, and when she was done, she turned off the tablet and hopped up on the counter.

“Anything I can do?” Mira asked

“Mhm,” he came over and stood between her legs, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Just sit there looking fine as hell.”

“I’m serious,” she smiled.

“So am I,” he said incredulously with a hand over his heart, making her chuckle at his dramatics.

“Fine, I’ll be your muse.”

“And my guinea pig. Here, try this.”

Erik lifted the spoon to her lips so she could taste the yam hash he had been working on, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I forgot you turn into Top Chef after sex.”

“Gotta feed my woman,” he kissed her cheek and cracked a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the skillet.

Mira giggled, and an idea struck her. She reached back for her tablet again and pulled up her latest work in progress, a story about a decades-long whirlwind romance that she had gotten stuck on. All she needed was a little inspiration, and Erik ended up being just what she needed.

He watched his wife type away with a smile on his face. Erik loved watching her work; the look of determination on her face was always so endearing to him. She’d bite her lip and squint her eyes as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Erik always thought it was adorable.

The smell of fresh vegetables coming in contact with hot oil filled the air, and Mira’s mouth started to water. She looked up from her work to see what Erik was doing but got distracted by his body. She watched his sinewy muscles moving beneath his textured skin, and a chill went down her spine.

“What the fuck is that?” Erik sniffed the air, following the sweet scent that had just wafted from out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” Mira asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

He turned to face her, and his pupils blew wide as the smell hit him again.

“It’s you,” he turned off the burner and stalked over to her, standing between her legs again and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent and let out a growl.

“What is that?”

“My bodywash?”

“Nah, it’s you. What-” he cut himself off when it dawned on him. When he was king for a day, he only smelled fear from those around him. Fear smelled like decay, it smelled rotten, but this was the exact opposite. It was enticing, like the most beautiful forbidden garden, and Erik knew exactly what it was. Her arousal. He bit into her neck, making her moan out as he ground his hips into hers. The aroma grew, and Erik’s composure slipped away the more he inhaled it.

“E-erik, the food.”

He took a deep breath as he stood to his full height. “I can smell when you want me.”

“What?!”

“I wonder if it’s different for every person...shit, I wonder if I can smell other people. I hope not-”

“What are you saying? You can tell when I’m horny?”

“I guess so. I only smelled fear before, but it makes sense. I’m just caught off guard because it hit me out of nowhere, like last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I could hear your heartbeat.”

Mira’s face lit up, “That’s good, though, right? It means your senses are coming back!”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised by that one. I wasn’t expecting all that,” he laughed.

“So...I smell good?”

“You don’t know how good, Princess,” he grumbled as he finished cooking. Mira crossed her legs, making him chuckle. “That’s not helping. It’s all over you.”

“Damn...what else can you do?”

“I need to test out my strength and speed, but my sight was different, too. Everything was brighter, more vibrant. And my brain moved faster...I don’t know how to explain it. Bast said my guilt was the blockage, so they’ll probably slowly come back over time. After they’re back, I’m supposed to start on my mission.”

“You still felt guilty?”

“I thought I broke us. I mean, I did, but I felt like it was unfixable, you know?”

Mira nodded, “Yeah, it felt like that sometimes.”

Erik pulled the dishes out of the cabinet and set them down next to her.

“Mira, I’m-”

“Erik, if you say you’re sorry one more time, so help me, Bast,” Mira said, making a dimpled smile appear on Erik’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while Erik plated the food, and when he handed Mira hers, he left a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and hopped down from the counter to sit at the table. When she sat down, she couldn’t help but stare at Erik as he walked over. Her man, her formerly violent man was really chosen by a goddess to protect Black people around the globe.

He noticed the look on her face and couldn’t quite place it. “What?”

“Nothing, just...look at you, doing the work of gods now.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say that about your mercenary husband,” Erik winked at her.

“Sure didn’t,” Mira laughed, “but it fits. You always had it in you. You know, I’m glad I came out here. I wouldn’t get to see this new side of you otherwise, and so far, I like it.”

--------

A couple of hours later, Erik found himself in front of the City of the Dead with his palms sweating and his breath shaking. He wasn’t sure why the temple unnerved him so much, but it did. Erik knew he had to do what Bast told him, though, and took a step forward. He climbed the stairs to the ornate stone doors and waited as they slowly opened for him. Erik was met with the sight of a surprisingly calm woman in purple robes. He recognized her as the woman he had choked out, the new head priestess.

“My prince,” she saluted him. “Welcome. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He hesitantly stepped forward again and entered the temple. A chill went down his spine as the doors shut behind them, and he looked around the space. He had only been there once before in his waking life, but this time it felt different. It probably had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t scared of him this time around.

“What’s your name?” he asked nervously.

“I am Zaya, my prince.”

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘my prince’ thing. Especially since I...you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should’ve never put my hands on you.”

“I have spoken to Bast about it, and I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

Erik put his hands up in defense, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, you are here to see the herb, no?” She started walking, and he followed behind her.

“How’d you know?”

“I spoke to Bast, remember?” She quipped with an eyebrow raised.

“Heh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious.”

“I assume that is a normal reaction when reckoning with your past.”

The two of them traveled deeper into the temple, and when they reached the door that led to the garden of the heart-shaped herb, he froze. Zaya looked back when she no longer heard his footsteps and smiled warmly, reaching out her hand to him. He took it, and she led him through the doors. Erik almost wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to face his past actions head-on.

He looked around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw there were dozens of tiny glowing purple buds just begging to become full-grown flowers. He laughed in disbelief at what he was seeing. He had burnt the garden to ashes, but now here it was, thriving in spite of him.

“It took us a while to get them to grow again, but thankfully we were able to put out the fire before the roots were harmed,” Zaya spoke as he wandered through the garden in awe.

“And these...they still work?”

“The princess took a sample and tested it in her lab. According to her, this new batch might be a little different, but they should still work. Bast has given them her blessing, so that is enough for me.”

“So, I didn’t ruin Wakanda’s future like I thought...”

“No, just a bump in the road,” she smiled.

Just as he was about to respond, the strangest thing happened. His eyes were trained on one of the buds, and suddenly he could see every little vein in the leaves and the detail of the curled-up petals. The color became brighter and even more purple than most people could comprehend, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled.

He could see again.

“Are you ok?” Zaya asked tentatively.

Erik cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just my senses are coming back, and...they’re beautiful.”

“And resilient.”

He laughed and wiped the tear from his face.

“How about I give you some time alone?”

“Thanks, Zaya, that’d be great.”

She bowed her head in deference and went back the way they came. When she was gone, Erik let out a sigh as he took in the sight before him.

“They really made it…”

“Of course, they did. Did you think I would leave my people defenseless?” Bast’s silky voice rang out through the temple, and he turned around to see her standing there in her mostly-human form. She was a statuesque and curvaceous woman with the head of a panther and locs that spilled over her ebony shoulders. Erik dropped to his knees as she walked towards him. “No need for all of that. Stand up, Jaguar.”

He laid eyes on her once more as he rose from the ground. Her glow was almost blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

“Get used to it. I like to pop in on my champions every now and again. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in your thoughts, and sometimes in person. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you and what you need, or what I need from you.”

“Ok, so what do you need from me?”

Bast chuckled. “Truthfully, nothing this time. I just needed to see you face-to-face.”

“You don’t have an assignment for me?”

“Not yet. I know how much you enjoy the sanctuary, so I’ll let you stay there a little whille longer. Plus, you are just now mending your marriage and need time to spend with your wife and child before I call you away.”

“How much time?”

“Enough,” she winked.

“You’re so cryptic,” Erik chuckled.

“Yes, your cousin thinks so, too. However, I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she sighed. “You have some party planning to do. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Especially when you miss a couple of years,” he murmured.

“Which is why I’m giving you at least a year before I call on you. Make good use of it, Erik.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, Erik.”

“Yeah?”

“Try running back to the palace,” she winked again as she shimmered away, leaving him alone in the temple.

Erik tried to contain himself as he left the garden and ran into Zaya.

“Was your ‘alone’ time fruitful?” she asked knowingly.

All he could do was beam at her with his megawatt dimpled smile.

“Very.”

Erik said goodbye and ran back through the forest to the city, his heart beating out of his chest in excitement. His superhuman speed carried him back in no time as the wind whipped against his body. A smile was plastered on his face the whole time, even when he slowed down as he reached the outskirts of Birnin Zana. He hurried to the palace as inconspicuously as he could and happened to run into Mira just as she was leaving. When she saw the look on his face, she couldn’t help the grin that took over hers.

“So, how did- Erik!” She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around with barely any effort.

“They’re back!”

“Your powers?”

“Well, yeah, but the heart shaped herb is coming back!” he peppered kisses all over her face and neck while she giggled. “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you could be.”

“So I take it your vision came back, and you’re super strong again?”

“And fast. I ran here in like twenty minutes.”

“From the CIty of the Dead?!”

“Mhm,” he nodded as he set her back on the ground.

“Damn, baby, that’s...that’s amazing.”

“I need to test them out some more, so I’m gonna see if T has some time to spar. You going to the lab?”

“Shopping, actually. Okoye and Ayo took Imani so I could get some last-minute party stuff.”

“Need someone to carry your bags?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Especially since you got that jaguar strength again.”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

--------

Early that Saturday morning, as the sun crested over the trees, Mira and Erik stood on the tarmac watching as the Royal Talon descended from the sky. Mira was almost shaking with excitement as the doors opened and T’Challa stepped out, followed by some of her favorite people in the whole world.

“Titi!”

SJ ran down the ramp past the king and flung himself into his auntie’s arms. She held him tight and rocked him from side to side as Stef and Ana approached, with Daveed teetering between the two of them.

She looked up at them and gasped, “Oh my god, he can walk now? How long have I been gone?”

“Girl, too long,” Havana complained as she wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Stefan was next to greet her, and his eyes stayed glued to Erik the whole time as he enveloped his sister in a bear hug, “We missed you, Sammy.”

“No, you miss my cooking,” she laughed as she crouched down to say hi to her littlest nephew.

“You remember Titi Mira?” Ana asked him, and he shook his head, hiding behind his dad’s leg.

“That’s ok, we can get to know each other while you’re here,” Mira smiled at him and stood back up.

“Who are you?” SJ asked when he finally noticed the man standing behind his aunt.

“SJ, this is your Uncle Erik. You might not remember him but-“

He thought about it for a moment before it dawned on him. “Do you still have all those bumps on you?”

Stefan tried to hold in his snickering, and Havana hit him in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Heh, thanks, lil man.”

“So, brother in law…It’s good to see you,” Stef deadpanned. He was clearly not feeling Erik anymore.

“You, too, man,” Erik went to dap him up, and he stared at his hand in contempt.

“Stefan, behave,” Havana said with a roll of her eyes. “Hi Erik, how are you?”

“Much better since I’ve been here.”

“Good, good…”

T’Challa had been standing to the side while the family reunited but decided to intervene when things got awkward.

“Stefan, Havana, let us show you to your quarters.”

“Oooh, our ‘quarters,’” Ana sang excitedly. “Sounds so fancy.”

“It’s a palace, Ana. Of course it’s fancy,” Stef grumbled.

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t act out in front of company.”

Mira chuckled. She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing their playful bickering.

As they made their way through the place, Stef and Ana stared slack-jawed at their surroundings while SJ ran ahead of the group.

“You live here?” Ana asked.

“Mhm. It’s gorgeous, right?!” Mira bragged.

“That’s not even the word…”

T’Challa smirked as he listened to them compliment his home.

“So, where’s the birthday girl?” Stefan asked.

“She is with my mother and Ororo.”

“Ororo?” Stef stopped in his tracks. “Munroe?!”

“The one and only,” T’Challa grinned proudly.

“Holy shit…”

“Language,” Havana chided her husband as she covered SJ’s ears.

“What is it with these men and cursing around children?” Mira shook her head at her brother.

“Girl, I don’t know, but let’s get back to Storm. How’d y’all meet?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Erik nodded towards his cousin.

“Dang, how’d you get her? I mean, I know you’re a king and all, but- Wait, are you a mutant, too?” Stef asked.

T’Challa and Mira made eye contact, and she nodded for him to continue. They were family and would most likely be seeing a lot of Wakanda, so they’d find out eventually.

“I am enhanced, yes.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” SJ chimed in excitedly from a few feet ahead.

“He wishes,” T’Challa complained under his breath as they stopped in front of the door across from Erik and Mira. Both of them chuckled at the king’s arrogance.

“So...you’re enhanced. Why, though?” Stef asked.

They entered the suite, and the interrogation was cut short when the Greenwoods saw how beautiful their temporary home was.

“Holy shit…” Ana mused as she covered SJ’s ears.

Mira gave them a quick tour while T’Challa and Erik hung back in the living area.

“So, you and Stefan-”

“He never liked me, and I made things worse by disappearing,” he shrugged.

T’Challa nodded as he changed into his suit.

“Oh, so you’re coming all the way out?”

“They will find out eventually, so I might as well get it over with.”

Erik nodded as Mira rounded the corner and saw T’Challa in his suit. She smirked and called SJ. He ran back into the room and froze when he saw Black Panther standing there next to his uncle. Ana was next to round the corner and looked at her son questioningly before she looked up and saw what he was staring at with his mouth open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said with a hand on her hip.

“About what?” Stef came next, and T’Challa’s mask disappeared into his necklace. “This place is insane.”

SJ couldn’t move. He was looking at his favorite hero in the entire world, right there in the place he’d call home for the next week. His mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing, and he couldn’t process his emotions. Tears started flowing down his face, and a sob wracked his body.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, baby,” Ana crouched down and wiped his tears as Stef came over with Daveed on his hip.

“You’re not excited to see Black Panther?” He asked his eldest son.

SJ shook his head, and T’Challa deflated. Erik kept his snickering to himself, but Mira shot him a look anyway.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“He’s just in shock. It’ll wear off eventually,” Ana said as she brushed SJ’s locs out of his face.

————

It took way longer to wear off than they thought, and by the time they arrived at the party venue in the palace’s botanical gardens that afternoon, he still hadn’t said a word. T’Challa tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he shied away behind Mira or his parents. Eventually, Erik convinced him to give the kid some space and pulled the dejected king away to the other side of the garden. While the other kids and their parents arrived, SJ kept looking at T’Challa out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, he doesn’t bite...or scratch,” Mira leaned in and said to her nephew as she sat down next to him at the kid’s table. “In fact, he’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

“Does Imani know?” he spoke up for the first time in hours, and Mira was happy to hear his voice again.

“Oh, yeah. He told us when we got here, but it’s a secret so she pinky promised not to tell. You know, I screamed when I saw him.”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. He really needs to learn how to ease people into it, huh?” she asked as she poked at his side, making him giggle. Stef and Ana watched from a few yards away and smiled with him while they kept a watchful eye on Daveed as he waddled around the flowers.

SJ nodded in response, and Mira kissed his temple before getting up and leaving him to ponder her words. Right when he had worked up the courage to speak to his hero, Erik announced that Imani was on her way with Ororo and Ramonda.

“I can’t wait to see my baby girl!” Ana squealed.

Mira excitedly grabbed Erik’s hand, and he kissed her knuckles, making Stef narrow his eyes as he and his family hid behind a mango tree.

Imani appeared with her auntie and future cousin, and T’Challa recorded as she squealed excitedly at seeing everybody. A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, Ade, and all her other friends from school greeted her with a loud “Happy birthday!” The newly five-year-old’s tunnel vision made her almost ignore her parents and other adults completely until Erik picked her up and gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Cupcake!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Mira sang.

“What is it?” Imani asked excitedly.

Erik set her down and turned her around as Mira motioned for her family to reveal themselves. SJ ran out from behind the tree and nearly tackled his cousin to the ground while her aunt, uncle, and baby cousin took a calmer approach.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Stef exclaimed while his eldest son continued to squeeze her tight. SJ let her go, and she ran into her uncle’s arms. Ana crouched down next to him, and Imani threw her arms around her neck.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ana said as she fought tears.

“I missed you too. Wakanda is so cool! I can’t wait to show you everything,” Imani babbled.

“Did you know about Black Panther?” SJ asked, still a little nervous about meeting his hero.

Imani nodded, “I promised to keep it a secret, or I would’ve told you. It’s so cool, right?”

SJ nodded, and Imani dragged him off to meet her friends.

Erik couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as he watched his little social butterfly play with her friends and cousin. It wasn’t until Mira came up and nudged him that he even realized he was staring.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Just reliving some things.”

Mira looked at him curiously and he continued, “One of the few good memories I have from childhood that we talked about in therapy was my seventh birthday party. This kind of reminds me of that.”

Mira smiled as they stood there and watched Shuri, Ororo, and T’Challa play with the kids. The king regaled them with stories of his adventures, and Shuri let them ride on very slow hoverbikes while Ororo harnessed the wind to lift them up and let them fly a couple of feet off of the ground. The kids were having a ball, and their parents seemed to enjoy themselves as well. Okoye, M’Baku, and a couple other people gravitated towards each other and fell into conversation about being single parents. However, the rest of them spent most of their time ogling the royal family.

Eventually, it was time to eat and the parents were able to corral the kids into sitting down at the table. After stuffing their faces with an array of Imani’s favorite foods, Mira led the “happy birthday” song as she and Ayo carried out a huge Doc McStuffins birthday cake. Imani and SJ were the only kids who knew who she was, but everyone enjoyed the cake nonetheless. Erik couldn’t help the tear that almost came to his eye as he listened to his wife sing to their daughter, just like his mother had done to him. Loudly and slightly off key. Next, Shuri led the group in a Wakandan birthday song, and Imani blew out the huge number five candle in the center of the cake.

Mira kept stealing glances at Erik as he sliced it up and handed out pieces to everyone. He looked so happy. Even when one of the kids tripped and got icing all over his pants leg, he just kept on smiling.

Even Stef noticed the change in his brother-in-law’s demeanor and brought it up to Ana, “He smiles too much now. It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that he’s happy?”

“No, it’s just weird to see. He used to be so…”

“Surly and unapproachable.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Maybe you should get to know him?”

“Hmph,” he grunted in response. Ana decided to leave it alone for the time being and left his side to go talk to Erik.

“You think you can handle the sleepover?” she asked him.

“Thank Bast it’s not all of them.”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no, just her little crew,” he pointed to A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, and Ade. “I’m not taking care of all these kids.”

Ana laughed, “Understood.”

“So...your husband still doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” Ana deadpanned.

“Nah, I’d be the same way in his shoes.”

“He’ll come around eventually...maybe,” she said as she placed a comforting hand on his arm before being pulled away by her son to watch the Black Panther and Storm show off their powers some more. SJ still couldn’t bring himself to speak to T’Challa, but it was a start.

As the party wound down and most of Imani’s classmates went home, the few that stuck around relocated inside to the Stevens’ suite in the palace. Even with a handful of screaming children in his home, Erik was on cloud nine. He loved to see a smile on his Cupcake’s face, and he wondered if he looked that happy when he was a kid. He concluded he probably did, and as the kids watched an animated movie, he and Mira curled up on the couch behind them. While the rugrats were distracted, he pulled her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she smiled.

“I’ve just been thinking…”

“About what?”

“About making more good memories, you know? Some of the happiest times in my life were times just like this…and time spent with you.”

Mira looked down with a smile on her face and he brought it back up to look in her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

Her eyebrows damn near reached her hairline and a Grinch-like smile crept up her face as she nodded.

“I’d love to.” Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger x oc #black!oc #all for us

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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cherry-gemz · 3 years

Text

Summary: This is a continuation of the movie Before We Go and my interpretation and imagination of an A/U. Brooke is you (Y/N) and Nick is still Nick :)

Prompt: "Just admit that I'm right." for @the-ce-horniest-book-club Drunk Drabbles for Nick Vaughan.

Pairings: Nick Vaughan x Y/N

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: <2k...is this a drabble still? Oopsies XD

A/N: I watched this movie for the first time just last week. It's now one of my top 3 Cevans movies! While I'm all for a romantic, serendipitous, spontaneous trope...much like Before Sunrise *no spoilers*, the ending was great, but I wanted a different spin. No pressure...yah, right! Either way, hope you enjoy xx.

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @tonystankschild @a-little-counter-esperanto

****************************************************************

You sniff and rub the end of your coat sleeve with your nose. Had to be the chill in the air, you thought. Not the fact that you just spent the most amazing and life changing night with a man you just met hours before and it was ending.

You stare out the train’s window; the gentle hum of the cart gliding across the steel tracks echoed in your thoughts. You shook your head in thinking that you made a mistake. I should have stayed...I should have told him how I felt…

“Nick. It's you again. Listen. I want to give you one more piece of advice. You're gonna be playing one night... Grand Central... thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl that broke your heart. Then, you're gonna meet somebody. And now, at first, she's gonna seem… icy. You're gonna know right away she's trouble. She's gonna take all your money. You're probably gonna get punched in the face. But stay with her; you're gonna need her a lot more than she needs you. And at the end of the night, you're gonna want to say some things, but don't. Don't ruin it. It's nothing she doesn't already know. Just give her a kiss. Wish her good luck. And thank her. Thank her for showing you that you can love more than one person in this life.”

He was unbelievably charming. You said so yourself. His raw talent with the trumpet was beautiful and different from what you were used to. The suburbia of the Boston bubble was what you were forced to live in now. You were from London, you were cultured and refined. Sure things with Michael were exciting at first, but the ho hum of the daily diatribe of routine became loathsome. Dépaysement. But you still never wavered in your marriage. Unlike Michael who had crossed that sacred line and lost your trust. It wasn't even fully the physical aspect that he went to another woman. It was the intimacy of telling her his deepest desires and then some that hurt the most. That he would want to share that with anyone else but you. But tonight. Tonight was what made you see clearly.

"It's possible, isn't it? It's possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else," you asked as you bit your lip.

"No, no, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else."

You found yourself blushing and cupping your cheek in thoughts of Nick. He was right. The whole night was a cluster mess of you trying to get home before Michael so you'd be able to throw away that wretched note. That he'd come to his senses and forget Linny. That he'd realized he was a fool and you'd start over. Just like old times.

However, slowly that feeling of reconciliation faded away little by little as each hour in the city passed. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but somehow the scrappy trumpet player Nick Vaughan etched his way into your icy heart and left an impression and stayed.

His fluffy, dark hair - so soft and inviting for you to rake your fingers through it was enough to drive you mad. His scruffy beard, which tickled when you kissed. You already loved ghosting your palms over it softly and imagined being able to do it whenever you wished. He said earlier into the night you weren't his type; you scoffed, but we're annoyed that it bothered you. You were a classic model of what guys were into, looks wise. Sure, your attitude was what rubbed some people the wrong way, but Americans really were too sensitive.

He however...he was the full package. Every toothy grin, wink, and full hearty laugh. He was addicting. He was a dead ringer for a heartthrob, but you also couldn't hate the guy for it. He was the friend you'd call to bail you out of jail at 4am and the boyfriend that you could see settling down with. It was nauseating really.

And then his lips. His soft lips...you can’t believe you kissed him in the hotel room. And then again at the train station. But you would have kicked yourself for not doing so in the first place. The way your fingers interlaced themselves on his terry cloth robe, how desperately you wanted to press your body against his. All you wanted was for him to feel that burning need within the apex between your thighs and extinguish it all night. But it was more than that, he was what you were missing. But you were kidding yourself. You weren’t running to Michael, you were running away from Nick.

But why? Because of the unknown? Because he actually knew who you were deep down inside? How could a man you barely knew, change you? Change what you thought was true, what you thought was love?

You dove your hand into your wool jacket’s pockets to push any thoughts of self-doubt, when you realize there was a piece of cardstock. You were puzzled to find it and immediately smiled in recognizing the hotel survey card. You bit your lip as you read down the survey questions one by one and notice Nick’s handwriting at the bottom, ‘turn over’ with an arrow.

Curious you turn over the hotel card and he’s written the word ‘yes’. Yes? You furrow your brow and contemplate further what he would be saying yes to. You think about the night - the time at the bar, helping him with Hannah, when you went to the psychic reading. Yes? What in the world - and then you turn the card back over and realize that on the second to last question it asked “Will you be likely to return?”

None of the boxes are checked, but he’d written ‘yes’ on the back. Yes. Yes he’ll return? Where? To the hotel? But when? You look up and rush to think about stopping the train dead in its tracks to return back to Grand Station. You breathe out heavily and come to terms that this isn’t a movie. He’s not chasing you down the tracks, jumping on the train to find you. Or is he? You wouldn’t put it past him. The whole night was filled with serendipitous concourses, this would be icing on the cake. You dart your head around to see if he’s in the cable car. It’s like in every rom com movie ending, the man of your dreams will be right there. He’s somehow charmed his way into boarding the train and found you waiting like a princess in her high tower. The train car is dark and bleak, only a few passengers are riding it as it’s the first route to Boston on a Sunday. You peer over to see if he’s in the next cart, but alas he is not. You slump in your seat and rub your thumb methodically over his words.

"Have you ever had a feeling that somebody was going to play a major part in your life?” you ask.

“Yeah."

“Do you know the most interesting thing about hotel art? It's what's on the back.”

It’s then you realize you have to return to New York. This story wasn’t about you and Michael anymore. No, it was about the man who selflessly helped you while you were in need, not only at your dire hour, but metaphorically as well. This was meant to be. You were meant to miss your train, break your phone, and meet the handsome man named Nick Vaughn. You knew he’d still be in the city because of his audition for the day with Duke at least, if you could just get to him somehow...

Your knees bounced as you sat on a cushioned chair in the hotel lobby. You had planned to wait there all day, but then realized the $13 train ticket was your only way of providing you security back home. So you went home. Confronted Michael. Cursed, cried, and then relief rushed over you as he had read your letter and how you knew about the affair. How you wanted to throw fists on his chest and tell him how much you hated him. But once you saw him, you found it didn't matter to you anymore. Someone else was worth fighting for. Your marriage was over. The hatred and spite you once had for your husband had dissipated. Your world didn't end like you thought it would. This wasn't your only chance at love. You were choosing to be happy, whether it was with Nick or not. This was the first time you were going to jump without having a net.

And Nick was wrong. Michael didn't want to work things out, he was coming to tell you that he loved you, but that and he'd be returning to Atlanta for good. The house, car, everything was yours: Nick said so himself, you gotta be okay with not being okay. So you walked away. You made the choice just like the psychic said and took it in stride, you faced the music.

However now you found yourself back in New York. Not the once stranded woman at a crossroads less than 24 hours before, but the woman that made a choice. You were worried that Nick would see it as you running away again. Running away because Michael didn't choose you. But in reality you didn't choose each other.

Still without an ID, you took your car and better against the four hour drive to the city and hoped a cop wouldn't pull you over. You thought of the night in the hotel. The laughs, the closeness you two encountered. The playful and cheeky way he could make you feel seen. You were starting to get nervous, what if he doesn't show up? What if I missed my chance?

"I'm an idiot," you murmur to yourself. "I can't believe I'm here."

You stand up and realize there Nick was there in your path. He looked a little worn, obviously from staying up all night. But he had changed and showered from the looks of it, and his signature trumpet case held in his hand.

"Well look who it is. The biggest loser in New York."

You laughed and blushed at the sight of him. He slung his trumpet case over his broad shoulder and walked over to close the gap.

“Just admit that I’m right.”

"Admit what?" You ask as you find yourself touching his jacket sleeve.

"Admit that you couldn't get enough of me." You hitched a breath from his words.

"You can say that."

"I can't believe you came back," he responded. His blue eyes gazed into yours as he brushed away a tendril of hair from your face.

"I read your answer to the survey...on the back."

"The stay did exceed my expectations and I did say I would return," he smiles.

"And here you are."

"Here I am…" he pulls away slightly as he's reminded that you're married.

"I jumped," you replied.

He's taken back by your statement and furrows his brow.

"What? With what?"

"I told Michael it was over."

"Wow. I'm so...sorry, Y/N."

"Don't be. You said so yourself, at some point it was time to face the music."

He nodded, absorbing the information.

"Say what's in your head."

He shook his head and grinned,"I'm just glad you came back is all."

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

"I didn't. Just sure as hell hoped you would."

He intertwines your fingers with his and holds tight. Like a missing puzzle piece found, your hand fits perfectly with his.

"Whaddya say we get out of here?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I may know a place," he smiles devilishly and gives your knuckles a kiss.

You grab his dress shirt collar and turn him towards you. He runs his hands through your hair and places his lips upon yours, kissing you deeply. It's a kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after you part, neither open your eyes for a few moments afterwards and he embraces you tightly.

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere."

#drunk drabbles #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x female reader #nick vaughan #before we go #before we go spoilers #nick vaughn x reader #romance

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Beyond the bay chapter 8: Home not-quite home

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

“You’re welcome in our home as long as you need.”

The lair the Splintersons entered in many ways resembled the one they knew. It was big and open, and as clean as one could possibly hope a sewer to be. It wasn’t as cluttered as the lair Leo knew best, and there certainly seemed to be a lot more room and space to stretch out. Graffiti was plentiful, Michelangelo’s style just as abstract and bold as Mikey’s contributions were on the walls back home. Candles were lit on raised shelves to provide a pleasant scent of lavender and spring into the air.

“It’s lovely.” Splinter beamed ear-to-ear as he reached out with his senses to take in everything the living space had to offer. “However did you get it so neat?”

“Donnie thinks it used to be an old survival bunker back before dad found it.” Raphael commented.

“Speaking of which, where is your father?” Splinter asked, “I haven’t seen him in ages and I should like to catch up.”

It was like the very air in the room dropped several degrees, all four Hamato’s stiffening. Raphael clenched his jaw and his fists, while Leonardo and Donatello bunched their shoulders in a similarly tense motion. Splinter frowned and looked to the youngest; Michelangelo’s head ducked so low that only his eyes were peeking over the edge of his plastron.

“He uh…” Raphael started, then immediately stopped when no words that came to mind sounded right.

“He’s taking a nap.” Leonardo assisted, a hand going out to grip Raphael’s; Raphael returned the pressure as he let himself breathe. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded slowly, tail twitching a sign to his confused sons to not question the situation further. “Us old rats certainly need our rest.”

Splinter laughed. Encouraged by the rats happy noise, Michelangelo slowly peeked his head back out of his shell with a slight giggle and smile. No one seemed to know what to say. The box turtle brothers shouldered their way deeper into the lair to start exploration of the place that would shelter them. Mikey, with Klunk in one arm, went to pluck a lit candle off of a shelf to smell; a sharp rebuttal from Splinter’s tail was all it took to correct and remind him not to touch. He still wanted to stay there to admire the plumes of smoke, but his entourage of older brothers forced him to keep going; not one of them had any plans of leaving their brother to his own devices. Not when his right side was so tight he could hardly move it. That, plus this strange new environment, made the instinct to protect the smallest brother grew to new heights. Slowly, like a herd of lumbering cattle, they made their way deeper into the living room area. Raph couldn’t help but whistle at the sight of the beautiful decor, admiring the fancy couch and neat stitch-work on the hand-made cushions. Donnie was more enraptured by the projection screen than anything else, his eyes like specks of gold in the earth as he approached the machine with eager chirps, only to be met with the same painful reminder from Splinter to not touch.

Raph gave a snort and shook his head before turning his full attention back to his friends, shifting his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth. Michelangelo remained focused on the small piece of wood, his eyes like pin pricks at the nasty habit. He had figured Raph would eventually grow out of it! Alas, it was not to be, and here Raph was, still chewing on that nasty stick of wood.

“You all really seemed to have eh… buffed up since last we met.” Raph commented, crossing his arms.

“And you got uglier, if that’s possible.” Leonardo snapped back, lips pulling into a devilish grin.

“Leo—” Raphael started to correct, but Raph only laughed a deep, belly laugh.

“You’re just as snappy as ever, I see.” Raph gave Leonardo a smack on the back, which sent the turtle stumbling. Raph winced at his mistake and drew slightly into himself. “Oof. Sorry!”

Leonardo caught himself and laughed it off. Leo shot a glare over to Raph, who only shrugged in a ‘what are you gonna do?’ motion. Leo decided it best not to cause unnecessary conflict, so he shook his head and tried to push the altercation to the back of his mind.

“Come here, little man!” Raph opened an arm and pulled Michelangelo closer, giving him a tight squeeze. He rubbed Michelangelo’s head with his knuckles, almost choking the younger boy as Michelangelo tried to pull himself free of the bicep’s tight grip. Once he had successfully freed himself, Raph crouched down to Michelangelo’s level. “Lemme see ya! You gotten big, kid!”

Michelangelo puffed out his chest and cheeks proudly, putting hands on his hips and glowing under the praise.

“Oh, so he gets to call you little man?” Raphael asked, his voice almost hurt.

“Don’t start a fight, Raphie!” Michelangelo huffed, pointing at Raphael.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to get in a scuff wit’ ya.” Raph commented, and Raphael seemed just as proud of the compliment as Michelangelo had been. “You're as big as my Don now!”

Donnie and Raphael fell back to back with each other, Leonardo and Michelangelo both jumping on the opportunity to judge the height differences. Michelangelo scrambled up Donnie like a jungle gym to get better leverage and a more level view.

“Actually, I think Raph is a little bigger.” Leonardo said, then gave a side glance to Mikey. “What says the jury?”

“I say that’s a very big boi.” Michelangelo nodded and stated matter-a-factly.

“Heh, how’s it feel to be the second tallest, Ding-Don?” Raph smirked, nudging Donnie with his elbow.

Donnie tensed at the elbow to his side, readjusted his glasses, and said, “I don’t know Raph; how’s it feel to be the third tallest?”

Raph blinked. “Shit.”

“Language!” Splinter corrected Raph with a whip of his tail.

“Gee, he really likes doing that.” Leonardo commented, leaning over to whisper to his counterpart.

“You have no idea.” Leo laughed breathlessly, shaking his head.

Michelangelo, meanwhile, had found a new favorite game; Donnie, resigned to being Michelangelo’s plaything, held out his arm so the younger box turtle could swing on it like it was a monkey bar. It didn't cost the tech genius anything more than time, and seeing the little box turtle so happy and laughing made his heart flood with just as much joy. He remembered when Mikey had been like that, so happy to hang on his brothers like they were the most fun game in the lair. Mikey still did it from time to time, but it was different coming from another young box turtle.

Michelangelo swung several more times before he launched himself off of Donnie’s arm, flying through the air and landing perfectly on Leo’s shoulders. Leo flinched at the sudden weight on his shoulders but, when he recognized Michelangelo, he gave a smile and left the turtle to his devices. From there, Michelangelo jumped to Raph, who had been expecting the change and caught the little turtle in one arm. Michelangelo started to climb over Raph like a spidermonkey, giggling the whole time, before he got to Raph’s shoulders and launched himself at Mikey.

Mikey’s immediate instinct was to reach out with his Right arm.

“Mikey, wait—“ Donnie tried to warn.

Mikey caught Michelangelo—and immediately cried out. His arm bulged, veins looking ready to burst at the strain. It took all the focus of his training to not drop Michelangelo outright, instead carefully lowering the younger turtle to the ground before falling against the wall clutching his arm. Klunk scrambled from Mikey’s grip, terrified of the sudden commotion.

“Nnngnnoo, Klunky…”

Donnie was with his brother in seconds, supporting Mikey’s weight while whispering low and urgent to the mutant. Before he realized his feet were moving, Leonardo was there too, helping to calm and stabilize Mikey as the box turtle writhed and cried. He immediately started to guide Mikey and Donnie toward the medbay, and the rest of the mutants followed like lost puppies. They stopped at the threshold of the sterile environment, staring helplessly inside as Leonardo and Donnie guided Mikey to a bed do he could rest.

“Something happened, didn't it?” Leonardo whispered to Donnie, hopefully low enough where Mikey couldn’t hear them.

Donnie gave a weak nod, keeping his voice just as low. “Partial seizure with overall shaking and hypertonic after-effects on his right side.”

“Does your family know?”

Donnie shook his head. “I haven’t told them yet. They know something happened, just not what.”

“Alright.” Leonardo nodded, “What triggered it?”

“I… I don’t know. We've been having a lot more bumps and falls lately. And there was this light…”

“Dudes.” Mikey said finally, his voice weak. “I’m fine. Seriously!”

Leonardo and Donnie exchanged unsure looks before Leonardo turned his attention back to the patient.

“I know you are.” Leonardo said with a bright smile, “But it might help the big softies back there if you let us give you a quick workup.”

Leonardo nodded to the crowd at the doorway, who were all finding their own space to peek in and watch with eyeridges creased in concern. Mikey leaned to get a better view of them, and then fell back into place.

“Okay.” Mikey relented.

“That’s the spirit.” Leonardo nodded, and then stood up so he could better address his eldest brother. “Raph, maybe you should get everyone situated?”

Raphael took the hint with a gruff growl and started to usher everyone away from the doorway to leave the medics and their patient in peace.

“Well eh…” It took Raphael a second to think of a new subject, “Sleeping arrangements! I was thinking your Raph and Mikey could take over my room, Leo and Donnie can share Donatello’s room, and you, sensei, can take Leonardo’s room.”

“Oh, we couldn’t!” Splinter tried to dismiss, “Just a couple blankets and pillows should suffice!”

“Nonsense!” Raphael bellowed, “It’s my house, and I’m gonna treat my guests however I want, and I want you all to be comfortable while you’re staying here! Besides, I can’t let an old man sleep on the floor! Leonardo’s bed’s the most comfortable for… your eh… for your back…”

Raphael trailed off, off-put by the sharp, dark eyes of Splinter. Raph and Leo both covered their mouths with a sharp intake of breath, eyes bulging as they quickly divulged away from Splinter.

“I’m not old.” Splinter said in a tone as if he was daring Raphael to contradict. “I’m fifty-seven. Fifty-seven is not old.”

Raphael’s head started to shrink into his shell and his lips pursed in a pouty face. “Am I in trouble…?”

With a kick of his foot, Splinter caught his sandal in a hand and held it out to Raphael with a knowing look. No more words had to be exchanged for the meaning to get across. Splinter replaced his sandal.

“Well… you should still take the bedrooms!” Michelangelo insisted, “That’a way me and my brothers can have a big ol’ sleepover in my room!”

The box turtle struck a happy pose, one leg in the air and his hands clasped together as he beamed. Splinter took one look at him and sighed; he couldn’t say no to that face.

“Thank you for your generosity.” Splinter gave a bow of his head to Raphael, “I promise you we will leave your home in as well of a shape as we found it.”

“Yeah, it’s no sweat.” Raphael said.

“I’ll have Shelldon sanitize and prepare the rooms.” Donatello declared as he typed a message onto his wristband.

“Who?” Raph asked.

As an answer, a force whizzed by his head, with a voice to match. “BOOYAKASHA!”

“What was that?!” Leo gawked, not sure whether or not it was appropriate to grab his swords.

“That was Shelldon.” Donatello said simply, reaching over to close Leo’s mouth for him.

Raph stared after the drone, shaking his head. “Don’s gonna have a geek-gasm…”

~~~

Donnie’s immediate reaction upon seeing the drone was to geek out, and to then try to contain the excitement when he remembered how easy it would be to harm the drone if he wasn’t careful. Instead of actually touching Shelldon, he found his hands hovering over the drone and his breath hard to catch.

“Say hi, Shelldon.” Donatello urged.

“Heyyy!” Shelldon’s voice carried a familiar, robotic tone that one would expect for artificial life, but it also held a sort of ‘surfer-bro’ charm to it. Donnie certainly melted over it.

“Heh. He’s kinda like your drone, but interactive.” Raph pointed out.

“Yeah…” Donnie breathed, and only once he was able to break from the paralyzed state of his body did he flip his goggles down over his eyes. “Hi… I’m Donnie. Oh gods you’re beautiful…”

“He enjoys scritches behind all nine of his ears, located here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!” Donatello pointed out all of the audio sensors on Shelldon’s body.

“Ohhh…” Donnie finally brought his hands to two of the pointed-out hot spots, carefully massaging along the sensitive sensors. When Shelldon began to purr, Donnie automatically returned the noise. “This is the greatest day of my life…”

Raph crossed his arms. “Aaaaaaand he’s gone”

~~~

Everything was wrong. Everything was dark and wet and it was hard to breathe, the smallest drip quaking him to his core. All he could smell was putrid filth, and all he could see was black, and all he could hear was the water around him. He was up to his waist in water, thick with grime and waste, and the fumes wafted up to suffocate his nose. The air burned his lungs in the worst possible way, but he had to keep going. He had to find his troop and harvest the mutagen. He had to find his commander and he couldn’t stop until he had new orders to follow. For the republic!

#If you call splinter old #you’re gonna have a bad time #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles #beyond the bay

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leggomylino · 4 years

Text

S&M Act I, Scene I | Windstorm ༄

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺

Genre: Adventure, Drama, Comedy, Fluff, Angst

Pairing(s): Lee Minho x fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

Au: Wizard of Oz au

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warning(s): Minorly to moderately dark themes of suppression, depression, panic, and insanity. Mentioning of blood, dark magic, violence, and (censored) language.

A/n: I’m so happy this story is finally coming to light! <3 Thank you to everyone behind the scenes who has supported me on the creation of this series, and to anyone who has ever supported my writing ever. ^^ I hope you enjoy!!! | Inspired by the events of Dorothy Must Die, by Danielle Paige.

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17 @distrikt9 @hanstagrams @hyunsunq @smolboiseavey @jisungsjheekies @iluvlix @moonlit-han @stay-nctzen @yangomangos @stayndays @cotccotc @skzctnightnight @multi-stan-present @dreamy-dreamies @yunhoesss (Please let me know if you’d like to be added! Comment, ask, or DM me!!!)

ღ S&M M.List | Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺

The dreams had been plaguing you for a while now.

“Y/n,” a boy’s voice spoke. “Y/n, always remember, and never forget. You must forgive, and never forget.”

“Remember what?” You’d cry out into the empty space. “Always remember what? What is it I’ve forgotten? Who is it I’m supposed to forgive?”

Alas, the empty space never told you anything. It was just a soft chuckle, the feeling of eyes lovingly watching you from somewhere far away, cloying and envious, and then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

~ ♕ ~

The rain pelting against your bedroom window that night had been harsh. You listened to the uproarious melody, now awake, lying in a pool of your own sweat, heart racing, wondering where you had come to and where you’d just been. It was always this way, taking time to cool down from such a feverishly swift and spiraling dream; although you were theoretically standing still in a vacant space, you felt the effects of falling as you arose.

The rain calmed you. Despite its intensity it was the one thing that gave you peace, something mentally stabilizing to cling onto and give full focus to as the echoes of a dream deferred vanished into the far recesses of your mind, where they’d be all but forgotten until the next evening. You didn’t know what you’d do when the stormy season was over-- it had already been unusual to have such a large mass of wacky weather one after the other this time of year-- and sure a ferrying rain shower or two was normal-- but you’d grown accustomed to running to the storm’s ferocity for guidance, a child’s blanket, a figurative teddy bear that you could squeeze against your thoughts when escaping the dream realm. The heavy downpour washed all of your fears and anxiety away. What would you do when it was all over, and Fall returned?

It had been so odd; with all the rain and fluctuating humidity, the flowers and Spring-Summer crops were in full bloom. You’d never experienced seasonal allergies in the Fall until now. Neither had your best friend, Hyunjin, and...speaking of…

You hadn’t realized it was morning until Hyunjin came bursting into your room with one of your uncle’s chickens in his arm. It was still raining, hard, the droplets sounding like tiny fists pounding to come inside. Doubtful to let up anytime soon. “Y/n! Are you still auditioning for the role of Sleeping Beauty up here? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Mia Harper’s got it covered, and Aunt Em’s gonna slide me your stack of pancakes in the next ten minutes if you don’t get your share of the chores done.”

A yawn escaped you. Hyunjin and his sidekick Kkami had been coming over to assist in your busy-hermit lifestyle ever since you could remember. He was your neighbor, after all, but...more on that later. The moment Hyunjin’s words soared beneath the backlash of bad weather, you’d completely forgotten what it was you’d just been thinking about, before the rain, what it was you’d dreamed. (Ever ironic how the dream had instructed you to remember, and yet, here you were, doomed to forget.) “Yeah, okay…” You yawned, stretching and easing yourself into the usual morning (sometimes afternoon) routine. You glanced at the chicken in his arms, and his subtle goofy smile in the doorway. “Is this your way of saying you’d rather have Pluckers as your lab partner instead of me?”

He shifted his eyes thoughtfully to Pluckers, watching him twitch and litter feathers like drops of rain before giving you his answer. “...I mean, that’s not a bad idea, actually. Have you even started your half of the worksheet yet?”

Ugh. Always about school. You wanted to tell him yes, but in all honesty you’d been spending your free time and late nights with your nose lodged between Harry Potter pages or your eyes plugged and gasping over YouTube storytimes. So you clamped your mouth shut.

And now, the backstory: Hyunjin had been your best friend for years. The two of you grew up next door to each other, which for country living was pretty dang far; having someone as your neighbor here was the same thing as having them live down the block. You’d never known your parents; you were adopted at a young age by your Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, who weren’t biologically related to you in any sense and just as good as any biological pair of adults. The details surrounding your DNA relatives-- and the year you’d come to live here-- were all unknown to you. The only story you’d ever gotten out of Aunt Em was that they’d had you from “knee-high” and that you couldn’t remember because of a nasty fall from one of Uncle Henry’s apple trees; Uncle Henry himself refused to speak of the subject at all, either pretending he needed hearing aids or choosing to run into the next room.

Hyunjin was your only friend in school. You’d never been very good in the communication department; growing up in a small town made your comfort zone the same. But not Hyunjin. He was popular and kind and got along with everyone. He had a gift for catching people’s eyes: every boy envied him, every girl drooled over him, and all your teachers and professors fawned and smiled and patted him on the back, even when he’d blurted out the “dog ate my homework” excuse in eighth grade and you proudly stood up and announced that he didn’t have a dog, disregarding Kkami, just for the amusement of finally seeing him choke and get scolded for once in his life. Instead you found yourself pouting with the Cone of Shame in silence while Hyunjin outrageously was given a star on the Good Noodle chart. It’d been the one moment to ruin your friendship for the remainder of class...until he gave you his Free Ice Cream ticket for PeachyKeen’s ice cream parlor downtown. Then, you were okay.

Even now, in your town’s small local college, he was applauded by all. The only person you’d ever seen frown his way was Uncle Henry, who often argued that a boy of his age shouldn’t be barging into a young lady’s room anymore. But Aunt Em always shrugged him off, quoting her famous “times change” saying and shoved a slice of pie before him, and he was back to watching TV.

A flash of lighting lit up the dim clouded sky, followed by the roar of thunder, and with a panicked squawk Pluckers shot out of Hyunjin’s arms, leaving a trail of feathers to follow down the hall. With a nervous look the two of you exchanged a nod before Hyun gave chase, closing the door behind him, and you got right to work getting ready for the day. It was Saturday, meaning no school, however there was still plenty of farmwork to do and the crops in the field weren’t going to protect themselves. Not from yesterday’s shower, and not from today’s.

You hustled downstairs with toothbrush hanging from your lips, dawned in your favorite plaid skirt and lime-green raincoat, the one with the little frog face over the left breast. Ruffling Kkami awake, Hyunjin’s “beloved baby,” you tossed her a treat from the clay jar you and Hyunjin had made together for her in sixth grade art, spinning and spitting in the kitchen sink.

Aunt Em gave you a nervous look as you tossed the brush in the dishwasher and started aggressively inhaling cinnamon apple pancakes like a beloved Nintendo character. “...And how is my favorite girl this afternoon?” She asked. Her whimsical tone made your neck blush.

“Sorry, I stayed up late studying again.”

“Studying the wizarding world of Hogwarts, you mean?”

“...Perhaps?”

You smiled apple bits and maple syrup, and she laughed, waving a dish towel at you and squinting the other way. “Keep your mouth closed until you're done. Didn’t I teach you better manners than that?”

“I dunno, did you?”

Her eyes bore into yours in warning and you laughed harder, nearly choking on the last bite of spiced apple goodness. Aunt Em sighed, shaking her head while wiping her hands clean. “I suppose I walked right into that one.” She nodded toward the side door, leading to the barn. “Hurry before the storm picks up. It’s gonna be another bad one, they say, so if the wind picks up anymore or it starts hailing or God forbid you see a giant funnel in the sky, I want the two of you right back inside, you hear?”

“Funnel cake?!” Uncle Henry called. He was glued to his usual pleather chair when he wasn’t out tending to the garden or the farm animals or fixing a leaky faucet. He was also in need of a hearing aid; working eight hours a day around screeching metals and brazen farm animals had left his eardrums in shambles. Aunt Em rolled her eyes, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Not cake, I’m talking about the weather!”

“It’s raining cake?!?”

She groaned, earning a chuckle from the two of you. It was cut short when Hyunjin came stumbling past, spitting out feathers and just in arms reach of a couple hens, Pluckers in the lead, signaling that brunch was over. “Thanks for the meal!” you said, shoving the plate forward.

“Be careful!” Em’s voice bridged across the living room. “You two look out for one another! And hurry!”

“We will!” You shouted back. The sound of the door clicking shut was barely audible beneath the heavy thunks of raindrops slamming against the tin roof as the two (five?) of you ventured out into the stormy play.

You wished then you would have taken just the sliver of a moment to look back.

~ ♕ ~

You’d never seen a flourishing of colors much like the one taking place outside. Turnips turning upwards, tulips banging heads, carrots and corn stalks exchanging blows before ending up on opposite sides of the field. Sunflowers having the sun beat out of them. It was something out of the rising action of a thriller movie. You’d seen similar scenes in nearly half the Harry Potter movies; the only thing missing were wizards and wands and perhaps a giant dragon.

“You round up Maribelle!” Hyunjin yelled over the storm. His arms were spread wide as he squinted and squatted through the blinding rain, ushering the rest of the chickens and hens inside the barn. “I’ll get the horses next!”

Nodding you ran through sloshing mud puddles and drowning fields of grain towards the feeding pasture, where dear old Maribelle the could be found, often grazing on weeds or spreading out for an afternoon sunbath. The lone cow of SunnySkies pastures for fifteen years, and the first to join the farm. Instead you found her darting bug eyes around wildly, her knobby limbs quivering beneath a willow tree that provided little protection, the willows only adding to the streams of precipitation pouring over her stiff brown fur. She gave you a frantic moo and bobbed her head in relief to see you.

“There, there,” you soothed, whipping the grass and water from her eyes. “Quickly now, let’s get you into the barn before this picks up anymore.”

She moo-ed again, lower this time, giving you an argueless agreement.

You sledged hard against the rising winds, the blades of greenery that cut surprisingly sharp like razor blades, leaving a small mark upon your cheek. You winced, annoyed at the slight sting, the small drops of crimson that came up against your fingertips only to be washed away just as quickly. It began to rain harder, faster, the wind practically howling in your ears. The faint sounds of a freight train or some sort of heavy machinery filled the distance.

“Let’s hurry, now,” you encouraged your steed, pulling her along beside you. She was reluctant to move, frightened by the spiraling commotion around her. It didn’t help when something snapped beneath your feet, a twig, maybe, or some glass. As if on cue the willow tree came crashing down with a thud.

You braced yourself, sucking in a sharp breath; you needed to get inside; but Maribelle had other plans. Startled, she ran a wayward direction, disappearing in the fog that was beginning to settle over the pasture. “Mari--!” you began to call, taking two steps forward-- ‘til the cries of another all but took your breath away, making you forget about Maribelle, making you forget about everything.

You stood, jaw slacked, slit-eyed, watching Hyunjin blow away. He wiggled in the fierce storm breeze like a flag pitched on the roof. “Y/N!!!” He screamed, clinging to the roof’s edge for dear life. “Y/N, GET INSIDE!!! CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!!!”

“HYUNJIN!” You bleated back. “HYUNJIN, HANG ON!!! I’M COMING!!!”

“NO, IT’S TOO DANGEROUS, GO-- AHHH!” He shrieked and ducked his head beneath a flying branch. “...GO INSIDE!!! CALL THE PRESIDENT!!!”

“I’m not calling the President,” you huffed, fighting your way across sideways weather and flyaway hairs to latch yourself onto the barn ladder. Of all the times to crack jokes, only Hyunjin would choose a raging level eight storm. “Hang on I’m coming…!”

...Your voice trailed off as your head listed aside, something bouncing in the corner of your eye. There, rounding the side of the barnhouse, was Kkami, frolicking like a happy-go-lucky lamb to Hyunjin’s side.

“Arf! Rwarf!”

“KKAMI?!?”

Your blood went cold. If Hyunjin caught wind of Kkami, it was all over. “Kkami!” you hissed, or at least tried to over the roaring ninety-miles-per-hour winds. “Go back inside! Go! Shoo!”

“IS THAT MY BABY DOWN THERE?!?!”

Oi. “N-NO, IT ISN’T! JUST A BRANCH!!!”

Ushering Kkami with a branch at least beneath the safety of the barn roof, you hustled back to the side of the building. The rain made it slick and hard to hold onto, but you scaled the side of the barnhouse as fast as possible, avoiding loose vegetation and swatting at leaves and smaller branches and once a lemon wedge that the storm must have torn in two somehow, crawling up loose shingles and various askew obstacles and then...then…

This was the hardest part to remember, a part you wish you didn’t have to remember. Face wet, hair whipping in the tempest breeze, you reached for Hyun’s hand, kneeling, pleading, focusing thoughts on hot cocoa and warm lemon pie inside, an Aunt Em specialty. The reality you were so certain in. A reality that would never come.

“Gotcha...!”

Your hands met, fingers touched, smiles of relief shared. But it only lasted a moment before the rainstorm ripped him away, your cries drowning in the funnel that appeared in the sky...or at least that’s how you wished to remember it: in reality there was a soft, whimpering arf!, followed by your best friend’s gasp as he relinquished your grasp to adhere himself to the skies after Kkami, now paddling against the storm’s current, cries of “My baby!” and anguished “AAAAH”s lost on the wind.

And you could only watch him go, just seeing him manage to latch onto his beloved pet of nine-odd years before disappearing from sight, sucked into the giant magnetizing center of it all you’d completely failed to notice, the last thing from his lips a cry to your name. It’d appeared out of nowhere, substantial and vigorous. Pulling into the station, the train had arrived, uprooting and tearing apart everything in its path. A giant, swirling cloud of gray and gravel and doom.

Oddly enough, in that paralyzing moment, something clicked in the back of your mind: a cursory afterthought at the eye of the storm.

“Always remember, and never forget. You must forgive, and never forget.”

You stared into the eye harder.

“Come home, Y/n. Come home.”

“Y/N!!!” Aunt Em’s frantic voice screeched below. “Y/N, HYUNJIN!!! Y/N?!?”

You couldn’t look. Couldn’t move. Horror froze you to the barn, eyes locked on the exact spot you last saw Hyunjin disappear, the trance calling you deeper and deeper into a strange petrifying submission, until the tornado whorled to your doorstep and swept you away; the pasture, the barn, your home. Everything.

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺

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